


Artistic Suffering

by awintersrose



Category: Naruto
Genre: Akatsuki Gift Exchange 2018, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artists, Gift Fic, M/M, Nude Modeling, Same Age/College AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 12:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awintersrose/pseuds/awintersrose
Summary: An artist doesn't always get to choose where his inspiration comes from, and though Sasori would love to hate his new model, he has never been so inspired to create.





	Artistic Suffering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RochiOmaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RochiOmaru/gifts).



> Gift fic for RochiOmaru, who requested OroSaso - I hope you enjoy it, dear! Happy belated holidays <3
> 
> Also my thanks to Krikee and shipcat as usual ;)

He should not be staring as he is at the line of the model’s spine, but he can’t look away. Oil dark hair flows in serpentine curves over the palest flesh, as his subject is posed in the waning afternoon light like a veritable dream wrought in chiaroscuro.

Come hell or high water, all Sasori knows is that replicating this on a canvas is the one thing he must do. The only problem is that the individual who carries such a noteworthy visage is wholly and completely insufferable.

He’d be heartstoppingly beautiful if it weren't for the gleam in his eye and tilt to his chin that showed that not only did the model know this, but that he revelled in it. From the moment Orochimaru arrived - a full, tooth grinding, three minutes late, to be exact - to their introductions and the arrangement of his pose, something about his manner has left Sasori grasping for words.

It is not a feeling that he enjoys. Not one bit.

Yet at the model’s presence vivid, fever-bright inspiration holds Sasori hostage for the first time in months. As the first lines begin to fill the blank spaces on his canvas, he has a clear vision for what will complete it, as well as two more like it. The final work will be comprised of a triptych that will fulfill the needs of a graduate project that up until today had otherwise left him without hope.

The agreed upon two hour session is already almost half elapsed, and the only thing that drags Sasori from the guidance of some forgotten muse is the alarm that he’d set on his phone when the session first began.

“You can take a ten minute break if you’d like.” Sasori says, trying not to be obvious in watching Orochimaru move as he turns to clean his brushes.

The model sits up and extends his limbs one by one in a long, catlike stretch, one that shifts the silks already barely covering his tantalizing nakedness. Sasori tells himself there is no double meaning behind his actions and half-smiles, even as the movement screams of a another attempt to tease. Something inside Sasori stirs with the impulse to make Orochimaru sorry for it, from the very same part of him that slightly revels in the knowledge that the model’s confidence might be challenged when the plans for the next two canvases are revealed.

_Perhaps then he'll come to realize he's bitten off more than he can chew_ , Sasori thinks, still half-captivated by the sight of Orochimaru lifting impossibly lustrous black hair off his shoulders and rolling his neck with a sigh. The artist grits his teeth and fidgets in his seat, finally averting his gaze and turning his entire attention to blocking the rest of the scene on the canvas.

For Orochimaru, it is far too simple a thing to enjoy the frustration he can see written in the artist's tawny eyes, especially when something more fervent burns beneath Sasori’s otherwise misanthropic stare. He knows that each and every action he performs is under intense scrutiny for the sake of the art being created, so he might as well give his employer a lovely sight. Of course, if it affects the artist in other ways, well, all the better. The redhead may be very good at holding a steady poker face, but Orochimaru’s hearing is very keen and he’s always considered himself well schooled in cause and effect. He easily notices the aftereffect of each minute flinch at a particularly interesting movement: the shift of the chair, the nearly inaudible susurrus of fabric rustling, and the swift hiss of an indrawn breath. Reactions such as these are altogether too much of a thrill to ignore; always satisfying, and they make Sasori a bit of a puzzle to be solved.

Orochimaru suspects that he is going to enjoy this assignment far beyond the fact that it pays extremely well. And if he finds the surly little redhead more than a bit attractive, then that is his secret for the time being. There is sure to be plenty of time for games of cat and mouse, with the other sessions yet to be completed. He smiles to himself, repositioning the silks and checking the time.

Taking this position with the art department was the best choice he ever made. His grants and scholarships might be numerous, but the extra work ensures that his family back home doesn't have reason to worry about a thing while he is overseas pursuing his studies. The work itself is not taxing mentally, he has few reservations about being the center of attention, and even fewer regarding being unclothed in front of strangers. Half the time he is covered by props or posed in restful positions, and able to lose himself in his thoughts. The majority of the art students he poses for don’t expect a molecular biology graduate student to be working as a nude model on the side, but more fool them. The job suits his needs much better than other employment opportunities might.

It is also a window into another subculture, and just as he seeks to make a mark on the world, on history itself with his own work, these artists seem to hold their own philosophies in the same way. Namely this one, who sees his art as something eternal to leave behind for the ages. And Orochimaru, in a way, finds another bit of curious satisfaction in knowing that he himself might be immortalized as the subject of that work.

“Time’s up,” Sasori says, taking up his brushes once more and waiting for Orochimaru to get back into position, almost bemoaning the fact that daylight will not last long enough for the scene to be completed in less than two more sessions.

Still, it is the shade and angle of light he needs and coincidentally the right time for them both to meet, and somehow the thought of any other model assuming this role angers him more than the thought of continuing to see that smirk, enduring Orochimaru’s overly graceful and flirtatious movements, or especially waiting for another inevitably late arrival.

Thankfully, the artist is not kept waiting, and Orochimaru finds his position again in perfect, almost demure obedience. At once, Sasori is reminded of the themes of his triptych, and the evolution they will take, practically embodied right before him. Demure, indolent grace, almost innocent, concealed from the prying eyes of the world. The next work will see him exposed in the full light of morning, no longer kept hidden, liberated. The third and final work will explore the erotic potential of his form, provocative, primal, and raw, seduced by candlelight.

“There will be two more pieces to this project. I hope you like a challenge.” Sasori states quietly. The sweep of the paintbrush over the canvas is the only other sound in the room.

“I’ve hardly ever been met with a challenge I could not overcome.” Orochimaru replies placidly, eyes flicking up to meet the artist’s for a beat, his golden gaze confident and unwavering.

Sasori wants to be the one to smirk this time, but he settles for the simple knowledge of what it is to come, and continues his work, allowing himself to become absorbed in the simple pleasure of his task. Inspiration takes over yet again, as his fickle muses remain still somehow so pleased with the model’s presence, and he has no choice but to accept that such things must simply be as they are. It doesn’t mean that he has to like it.

It also doesn’t mean that he cannot seek retribution in other ways.

Thus as with the hour before, the second hour of their session passes swiftly, and at Sasori’s permission, Orochimaru rises to get dressed.

It is hard to say which of them is more aware of the other, but Sasori is the one who shuts away his reactions behind an impenetrable wall of steel, or so he thinks, while Orochimaru takes note of just how much the smaller man is trying not to look in his direction. This in and of itself is a clear reaction, and as the model packs up his things and folds the silks that are part of the set Sasori prepared, he considers how he will make his exit. Until of course, the artist breaks the silence.

“As I said before, there will be two other pieces, so I will be needing you to sit for me on a regular basis. Exclusively, for the remainder of the semester.” Sasori states, without looking up from the easel.

Orochimaru pauses in his path. Exclusively? As this is his primary source of income, he stands to lose a great deal of money if he turns down the other jobs the department sends his way.  “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

The edge of Sasori’s mouth quirks slightly. “Oh, I only meant regarding your Tuesday and Thursday timeslots, but if it’s impossible I suppose I can find someone else.”

“No, those days are fine. I can be flexible with regards to the scheduling so far as the traffic is not an issue like today.” Orochimaru affirms, relieved and steadying himself as easily as breathing.

“Yes, well, you should try not to keep me waiting next time.” Sasori says, a little disappointed the model didn’t push back a bit more. He stands, finally meeting Orochimaru’s unusual golden eyes and finding it every bit as discomfiting as he knew it might be… yet enjoying it just the same.

_No, not him. Anyone but him._ Sasori tells himself, and Orochimaru simply smiles a smile that seems to say he knows something Sasori doesn’t know, and it is simply infuriating.

“I will remember that and look forward to next Tuesday.” the model says, offering his hand.

Sasori takes it politely, and immediately something like lightning runs through his veins. Orochimaru's smirk seems to acknowledge that he felt it too, but he makes his exit without another word.

The air inside the studio has somehow changed with his absence, and the artist finds that he too cannot quite wait for next Tuesday.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a comment or kudos if you are able to, I would really appreciate it!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: [awintersrose.tumblr.com](http://awintersrose.tumblr.com)  
> Or Pillowfort: [www.pillowfort.io/awintersrose](http://www.pillowfort.io/awintersrose)


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